


words only the heart can hear

by formosus_iniquis



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Pet Names, terms of endearment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 23:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16753897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/formosus_iniquis/pseuds/formosus_iniquis
Summary: "What's the bet?" Peter caved. It wasn't the fastest he'd ever given in, but Sam only smirked as if he thought he had a sure win."We break the stigma around platonic pet names.""That's not a bet that's a proposal," Peter said. "What's the bet, what are the terms?""Starting tomorrow it's endearments only."---In which a bet is made and is regretted immediately, just not for the reasons Peter expected to.





	words only the heart can hear

"That would never work in real life."

Sam was upside down, his face was just starting to turn an unattractive shade of red where it hung off the edge of the arm chair cushion while his legs stuck up in the air. Peter would ask why he was incapable of sitting normally but he already knew what Sam would say, and he wasn't really in the position to be throwing stones when he was laying on the floor to do his work instead of sitting on the empty couch.

"What wouldn't work?"

Sam flipped, his legs dangled off the arm of his chair while his top half sprawled across the other. The blood that had started to rush to his head settled back into his body and left him with a pleasant blush. Peter turned back to the article he was supposed to have read by the morning, when he stared at Sam it always led to a less productive evening.

"That," Sam waved a hand lazily at whatever movie he had playing on the TV. 

Peter looked back at him helplessly, he wasn't even sure what was on other than it being some Lifetime or Hallmark made for TV thing, he needed noise in the background so he could focus on his work but it couldn't be good noise that he might actually want to listen to.

"That," Sam insisted, "the revelation of true feelings through accidental pet names."

"How does that make less sense now that you've explained it?"

"I didn't say it was a plot with a lot of conflict, just that it isn't realistic."

Peter sat up, turning so he had his back to the TV --- and his homework --- and could better gauge the look on Sam's face. "You're saying if someone started calling you babe, that wouldn't raise some flags about the true nature of their feelings."

"What I'm saying is the only difference between pet names and nicknames is a societal decision that I can't call someone babe without it being a romantic thing."

"So it's a societal problem now," Peter asked. The movie had regained it's status as pure background noise and his article had become something he was going to have to bullshit when he got to class, Peter knew Sam well enough to know that this was about to become a thing™.

"When isn't it a societal problem? The man is always keeping me down."

"You  _ could _ make the argument that as a-"

"As a queer man in America I could get away with calling people boo and babe and hunty. But that's not the point, Peter, because then it's still-"

"A thing," Peter finished.

"A thing. Like how the internet ships Tom Hardy and Joseph Gordon Levitt in Inception 'cause he called him darling a couple times."

"I think it was the pet names and the-"

"If you use the phrase phallic symbolism, Peter, I swear to god I'll move out. I didn't say I wasn't on board." Sam interrupted. "My point is that, occasional symbolism aside, it's a contrivance used in popular media to force us to think that there's more chemistry than there really is between two bland, straight, white people."

"So do something about it," Peter said, trying to turn back to that article again it was still only the first month of classes and it would look really bad if he was the Vandal guy and the kid who didn't do the reading.

Sam had made his point, but he also wasn't going to let Peter escape that easily. He sat in his chair the way it was designed to be sat in, and Peter knew things were about to really kick off. Every bad decision he had let Sam rope him into had started when he was sitting in a chair the way it was supposed to be used. "Do something about it?"

"No, whatever you're about to say I don't want to do it."

"Where's your adventurous spirit, Pete?"

"It's been used up on two felony vandalism cases."

"Chicken."

"We aren't twelve anymore, Sam, that's not going to work. You aren't going to goad me-"

"Bet I can," Sam's smirk pulled higher on the left. He did it on purpose, still embarrassed about how Molly Kirkpatrick told him he had a dimple on his right side in like freshman year and it made him more cute than hot --- Peter always thought Molly had bad taste.

"What's the bet?" Peter caved. It wasn't the fastest he'd ever given in, but Sam only smirked as if he thought he had a sure win.

"We break the stigma around platonic pet names."

"That's not a bet that's a proposal," Peter said. "What's the bet, what are the terms?"

"Starting tomorrow it's endearments only."

"Exclusively?"

Sam considered for a second, "Predominantly, at least three in five."

"At home and in public?"

"In public is a given, Peter, c'mon. Home is dealer's choice, but they are  _ just _ names,  _ right _ , so it really shouldn't matter."

"Right," Peter agreed, unwilling to bend in the face of the second challenge offered in the quirk of Sam's eyebrow. "Social media rules?"

"Typical handles work for tagging, other than that it's best judgement."

"I don't think any of this falls under best judgement." Peter said. "Usual terms past that?"

Sam thought for a second, one leg throwing itself over the arm of his chair --- like his body couldn't physically stand sitting normally or still for any longer than it had to --- in more of a split than a manspread. "Nah," he said finally, "after everything a social media takeover kinda leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

Peter winced, "Fair."

"When I win-"

"If," Peter corrected.

"When," Sam continued, "you can make me a winner dinner."

"Chicken dinner?" Peter teased.

"All the real celebrities are on Fortnite."

"And when I win?" Peter asked.

Sam gave him his best, worst stage laugh, "Yeah sure if you win I'll cook for you, that's some reward."

"Yeah, no, you can clean the apartment the next time the landlord comes by to fix stuff that isn't actually broken."

"Agreed."

"Are the terms set?" Sam asked.

There's the out. Presented like the option it isn't, whenever there's a bet there's always an out that neither one of them will actually take.

"They're set." Peter agreed.

Sam sprawled out in his chair again, languid the way a jungle cat was while they watched the world move around them. "Are you almost finished, I wanna watch something good."

Peter had five pages left in this article. "Yeah. You wanna watch Mad Max?"

He forgot about the bet.

After they stayed up for hours watching movies they'd both seen before it was easy to forget about giving in to some stupid impulse to follow Sam head long into a bet.

They really don't see each other that much during the day. Sam leaves before Peter most days to get to class, and when Peter leaves he's headed in a different direction than Sam. So it really wasn't his fault that by the time Peter's last class of the day was letting out at 1:35 he'd forgot about the bet he'd made just to call Sam on his bluff. Really he hadn't been thinking about much of anything while he'd been trying to get his things back in his bag, other than how ready he was for his hour drive home to be over. When his phone started to buzz on the wooden desk, Peter fought that split second of embarrassment at having a phone that actually made enough noise to disrupt an otherwise quiet room and answered it.

"What do you want, Sam?"

"Ooh giving up on the bet already, babe?" Sam asked, he sounded smug and like he might have called Peter while he was eating lunch and still had food in his mouth.

"Predominantly," Peter reminded, face warm suddenly where it made contact with his phone. "Did you call me just because you knew I wouldn't remember,  _ babe _ ?" It felt strange to be calling Sam that, the word felt weighted and weird on his tongue. Maybe that was the point Sam had been trying to make the night before, it was just a word, why should it feel so different from any other.

Sam laughed, "That might have been part of it. But I was also wanted to know if you were coming home after class, I figured if you were already driving you'd actually answer me if I called." 

Peter finally managed to get his laptop into his bag after struggling with it all this time, his phone held against his ear through the cooperation of his face and shoulder. "No, yeah, I'm about to leave. I'll be home in an hour if I don't get caught in traffic again today, babe." He tried it again, hoping that with use it would stop feeling like he was giving something away every time he said it, but even now it felt like he had his cards backward showing everyone else his hand when he didn't even know what he was holding. 

The girl who sat beside him in this class was looking at him strangely as she slung her own bag onto her shoulder, Peter hoped it didn't sound as weird to other people as it sounded to him when he said it.

He did his best to smile at her as he left, phone still clutched between his shoulder and his ear the line filled with Sam's laughter.

"Oh, dude, babe, it sounds like pulling teeth every time you say that." Sam's laughter bubbled up again, Peter could hear the smile on his face. It did sound more natural when Sam said it, like babe was no different than the dude he used before it.

"Well it's not like I've had the practice."

"Well, what do you think this is for, Pete, what better time than now?"

"Thought this was your big social movement,  _ Sammy _ ."

"Porque no los dos?"

"Two years with Mrs. Shapiro and that's the only thing you can say."

"Well we can't all be fucking bilingual, babe."

"Some days you struggle with English." 

"Sometimes words can hurt, Pete."

Peter hung up on Sam. He told himself it was because he was tired of listening to Sam eat while he talked, but it had taken most of his drive home before he had fully shaken off the strangeness of being called babe by the same person who'd called him so many other much less romantic names.

So Peter wasn't sure why he was surprised when the stupid bet spiraled out of his control almost immediately. It wasn't like that wasn't exactly Sam's MO for this sort of thing, like since the moment they had become friends any time he'd start a thought with 'Hey Pete' things never went well for Peter who would end up in some stupid thing that almost always got him in trouble with someone. 

In the third grade, barely two weeks after they had met, it was: Hey Pete, I bet you can't jump all the way across this fucking huge hole full of rocks i just found --- Peter broke his arm, Sam had had to get five stitches in his chin from where he jumped in after him.

In the fifth grade, sheltered by the naivety that came from being the awkward kid who had trouble making friends and Sam covered by that same umbrella thanks to their friendship, it was the perfectly innocent: Hey Pete, bet you let go of my hand before I let go of yours --- his coming out was probably delayed by four years thanks to the helpful conversation they had had with Mrs. Jones, who wanted them to know that it wasn't appropriate for two boys their age to be doing that. It was only completely mortifying for Peter, who had never liked getting lectured by anyone in authority (a fun by-product of being the only child of a single mom), and he had dropped Sam's hand as a guilty feeling had settled into his stomach the comment from a teacher a thousand times worse than the whispers that they'd been ignoring as they had been playing on the playground.

Freshman year it was: Hey Peter, bet you won't eat more of this than me --- Peter had been Peter since that ill-fated lesson about appropriate displays of male affection, he'd been Peter longer than he'd been Pete by that point, but every now and then it would sting in ways and for reasons Peter didn't have an answer for; but it probably didn't hurt as much as Sam had by the time he lost that bet. He really was too white to try offering a challenge that involved any kind of spicy food.

A challenge had led to Peter coming out to Sam. One had led to Sam coming out to Peter. A half-forgotten dare made after sneaking some of Sam's older sister, Kayla's secret liquor stash had been the push Peter needed to actually try something as hard as Vandal.

They pushed each other sometimes in good ways, like an alcohol flushed Sam telling Peter to actually do something about all that anger about the dick drawing incident, and sometimes they just pushed each other because they were two friends who had known each other for too long, like now.

Peter was convinced Sam had a list, that he had deliberately looked up some of the worst and most obnoxious pet names that had ever existed and he was using them to see how quickly he could make this thing so cringe worthy that Peter just gave up.

Like when Peter had a mouthful of toothpaste, Sam stuck a head into his bathroom --- hair loose from its usual gelled up prison and slipping into his face --- to say, "Goodnight, snookums."

Or.

"Hey, doll face, are you gonna bitch if I get pineapple on my half of the pizza?"

Or.

"If you make me read a movie after I had two different tests today, I'm gonna smother your asthmatic ass, Sweetcheeks."

It was only at home though. Peter wondered if Sam found a sense of embarrassment that kept him from using the worst of the worst endearments when someone else might hear him.

Peter was fine with that, he had a hard enough time competing with the stupid names Sam had come up with when they were at home. He tried. He really tried, but they never had the same punch as Sam's.

Like when Sam wouldn't just pick a playlist when they were driving to their post-midterms dinner with Gabi, "Dear Heart, if you don't pick something I'm going to make you fucking walk."

(Gabi didn't even raise an eyebrow at dinner when Peter slipped up and called Sam, Sammy. Sure, childhood nicknames had been approved. Peter just didn't want to have to throw around babe around people they knew or someone who might spread that sort of thing around twitter. Sam just appreciated the sentimentality of it. Peter had still meant to cash in on the predominantly part of their deal and stick to Sam. Sam barely noticed the slip up, or he was giving Peter more credit than he deserved.)

(He didn't care that Sam didn't make a similar slip up, or that he was Peter all night.)

(Peter didn't listen for a facetime from Gabi through the notoriously thin walls of their apartment, but he did put his headphones on when he heard Sam's phone start to ring.)

Or like.

"You want that pasta thing, Honey Lamb, or would you rather get Chinese?"

Or like.

"Have you seen my charger, Sugar Bear, I'm gonna be late?"

Sam had something to say about it obviously because he was Sam and he always talked smack if he thought it would get Peter to give up sooner.

"You sound so fucking earnest when you say shit like that, babe." He laughed, somehow these names just rolled off his tongue like he was calling Peter by name. "It's like you're trying to be annoying but you actually mean it."

But it didn't stop Peter. 

It didn't stop Sam either.

Which was strange. Mostly because they rarely managed to keep a bet or a dare going for more than a couple days before one of them gave in or they decided it wasn't worth the effort to keep going. 

Peter eventually ate a vegetable even though he'd bet Sam in the fourth grade that he could totally live off his Halloween candy for a whole year.

Sam stopped trying to grow any kind of facial hair even though he bet Peter he could totally pull it off.

It wasn't normal to actually incorporate stupid bets into daily life. Excluding the ones that were thinly veiled attempts to make Peter do something his anxiety wasn't letting him do, but that was a finely honed coping mechanism.

_ This _ was slowly ruining Peter's life.

"Hey babe..."

"Babe, did you see this?"

"Babe-"

"Pete, doll-"

Doll, he let Sam call him doll. He let Sam call him  _ doll _ . Like it was the 1950's or like Sam had actually auditioned for the musical his school's theatre department was doing instead of just singing the songs under his breath any time he zoned out for more than thirty seconds --- a trait which was endearing up until the point that Peter got sick of mumbled Frank Sinatra. But Sam made it work.

Or maybe Peter just thought that it worked. Because at some point between "what are the terms" and the current unique personal hell Peter had found himself in Peter started liking this stupid bet.

The problem was Sam.

Which wasn't even the first time Peter had thought that, as much as Peter loved Sam --- in a shifting amorphous way that only continued to confuse him more with each passing day --- he had a talent for upsetting people. Sam said it was an actor thing, Peter knew it was more a Sam had ADHD and sometimes let his brain get ahead of his common sense thing.

But for once Sam didn't know he was the cause of the problem.

Peter didn't have a lot of references for friendship.

Sam liked to say that there were better ways to phrase that, but Peter was an introvert. Loyal but selective. He had friends, the number of them wasn't really a concern.

_ Until _ shit like this happened, and Peter was left struggling with fun concepts like platonic intimacy and platonic affection between men in a 'no homo' culture. Cause Peter was searching for a frame of reference for what his life had become and he was coming up unsurprisingly empty.

But maybe that was the problem with borrowing so many social scripts from pop culture. Once things start getting queer things stop fitting as well.

Outside of pop culture Peter wasn't left with many other options.

His friendship with Dylan, strange as it was, was straight forward. He talked with Dylan. He trusted Dylan, at least when it came to his opinion not as much when it came to who ate the last of his fries after he got up --- or about that driveway dick that Peter still hadn't shaken the last vestiges of anger about.

He texted with Kevin and DeMarcus and Chloe. When he remembered to respond anyway.

There were people, other than Sam, that he talked to from Hanover on more than social media.

Friends weren't the issue. The problem was he didn't call Dylan, hon when he didn't want to get off the couch for a redbull.

The  _ problem _ was Kevin didn't stick his feet under Peter's thigh when they were watching a movie because the apartment was too cold.

The  _ problem _ was Emily or Madison or Ming didn't ever slip into his room at night because they couldn't sleep. He didn't stay up way to late talking about the mysteries of the universe with them. Or listen to them yawn their way through calling him baby before they finished off a sleep tired point that was impossible to follow in a voice that was gravelly from talking too much.

The problem was Sam did all of that. The problem was that Peter let him and Peter reciprocated. The problem was Peter would willingly spend the rest of his life cooking for Sam --- something he did most of the time anyway because he got his need to take care of people from his mom and he was compulsive about it when he wasn't careful --- rather than end this bet himself. He didn't even care if Sam cleaned the apartment anymore, he would rather have the babes and the baby's. He would rather be allowed to call Sam babe and hon without giving something a way.

The problem was Peter thought he might be a little bit in love with his best friend, but he was so out of touch with what those feelings should even feel like that he wasn't sure if it was the same close platonic affection that he had always felt for Sam amplified by comfort and the safety of knowing he could say whatever he wanted to Sam and still be treated exactly the same. Or if it was something else.

Peter didn't really begrudge the fact that he didn't have a lot of experience in the romance department. It was hard enough being semi-closeted in high school and then being semi-outed in high school while simultaneously airing a good portion of the school's dirty laundry. Not that he was oblivious, he knew when he wasn't being one of the world's most awkward people, that he got looks. The comment section of his Insta was actually being used now and it was filled with near strangers telling him that he wasn't bad looking, and he hadn't missed the way some of the girls at Saint Bernie's talked about him when they thought he and Sam were busy doing other stuff. But now he kind of wished he had the experience to decide how he was supposed to classify this giddy feeling he couldn't stop from building and boiling inside of him every time he looked at Sam or he heard Sam call him some stupid name.

Not that Sam was helping. With his stupid Instagram aesthetic that he had to keep up. Posting stupid pictures of Peter, where his back was to the camera and his bulky editing headphones were on while he worked on what he knew was the second round of edits for Season 2. Stupid pictures where he was really only a silhouette by the time Sam had finished editing the photo so it would fit in his photo array, the light of Peter's desktop setup creating a halo of light around him in the otherwise dark room. With stupid captions about Peter like: #TBT of my favorite editor @PMProductions hard at work on the new season of Vandal 😍 #nowstreamingonnetflix.

What did that even mean. Peter hadn't spent hours of his life that he could have been sleeping trying to figure that out. He hadn't obsessed over it the same way he had the mysteries they'd solved for Vandal. He hadn't.

**hey babe Samya emailed you need to promo on your insta**

**slacker 😜**

It even started branching over into their texts.

_ why doesnt the official insta work _

**cause youre the face of the investigation doll**

**people want to see you**

_ what do i even post _

_ sammy _

_ im not kidding _

**use a cute pic of me 😜**

Was Sam kidding? Peter hadn't taken the time to really consider it, he probably had been, but Peter had taken the direction and run with it because it was easier. He didn't want to spoil any part of the investigation with any of his pictures with their friends from Bernie's.

He picked a shot of Sam in profile, the edge of their theory board just in frame enough that all of Sam's string is visible but it was hard to tell where they are in the investigation. (Still following dead ends and trying to decide if DeMarcus or Lou were the ones who might have been responsible) He's smiling --- at Chloe, also out of frame --- the right side pulling higher than usual and his dimple was showing because Sam wasn't paying attention and he was actually genuinely happy and laughing at some stupid joke Chloe had told them both that Peter couldn't remember. 

He'd taken it on a whim. His phone was always in his hand just in case they heard from the turd burglar or someone messaged him with a new lead, Peter had his camera app opened before he could even think about why he wanted the picture at all --- Sam had looked happy, and the weeks they had spent in Washington swung wildly between numbing boredom and constant action it was nice to see Sam smile for real.

(And it was so rare that Sam's dimple ever made an appearance.)

He didn't spend fifteen minutes tweaking the filtering and editing so that the pink at the tips of Sam's ears and cheeks were visible. Just like he didn't rewrite the caption ten times before he settled on: Catch @thatothervandalguy and his real love #string again in Season 2  #nowstreamingonnetflix

Was it dumb? Probably? The fact that Peter didn't immediately hear from Sam once he got the notification he was tagged probably meant that he had some problem with either the picture or the caption. The rest of the internet didn't have the same problem.

Notably JennaHawthorneOfficial who hadn't talked to either one of them since her pictures had been leaked in the final dump, but decided to break that silence with a comment: Need someone who knows my angles like this. Seriously, are you guys just always like this?

It was the kind of comment that Peter would kind of expect from Jenna. It was a little blunt, a joke that only kinda came across as one, and honestly it was a little cryptic.

It was the exact break he needed just as he needed it, kinda weird how it was in the form of Jenna Hawthorne once again.

He did his best to summon a little bit of Sam's 'act first, consider the possible consequences of those actions later' mentality and slid into her DMs.

_ Hey Jenna, do you think I could ask you a question? _

**is it about vandal**

Peter felt a moment of whiplash between the public persona Jenna put on, who at least softened her blunt demeanor with a joke, and this more private one who was ready to snap back at a moment's notice to save what face she had left. Even if he hadn't spent nearly two months combing through the high school drama she'd had to live with, Peter would still kinda respect the measures she took to shield herself. She was working with a bad hand.

_ no, its a little more personal... _

He's surprised when his phone starts to buzz to let him know Jenna was trying to video chat with him --- surprised mostly because he didn't realize Instagram even had that feature.

"What's the gay thing you need to ask me about?" Jenna asked no sooner than Peter saw his own face sharing the screen with hers.

"Shit," Peter said, the only real response he had to a conversation he hadn't prepared for. He really didn't know how Sam dealt with the conversational consequences of diving in head first without thinking.

"It was a gay thing, right, I mean I assumed," Jenna said it like Peter had found she said most things, with a feigned confidence that didn't quite hide that she didn't really know what she was doing either. He really wished she had gotten a better deal by the end of things. "I mean if it wasn't you'd probably be talking to one of your actual friends."

"We could- I would like to be friends, Jenna. But I don't want to- I mean after everything that happened..."

"Alright, well, you don't have to beg."

"Right, no sorry I won't," Peter fought a smile, he wasn't sure if Jenna would appreciate it when they had just reached some kind of equilibrium.

"Seriously though," she said, "you wanted to talk about something gay? I'm assuming it involves Sam and that weird ass caption you wrote."

"It wasn't weird."

Jenna didn't refrain from laughing the way Peter had, but she had the grace to look a little embarrassed about it. "Oh wow, sorry, shit I'm not used to-" she cleared her throat like that was a reset to this conversation. "How long have you been dancing around this thing with Sam?"

"That's- I mean- We aren't-"

"Yikes..."

"Yeah," Peter agreed because that was really all that there was to it.

"So like gay to gay, you wanted advice on asking him out right?"

Peter groaned, hiding his face as much as he could without dropping his phone. He hadn't realized just how embarrassing having this conversation with someone would be. "I don't know what I want," Peter admitted. "The only other person I could even think to call about this, well I have a feeling I already know what he would think to say."

Jenna winced in sympathy, "Homophobe?"

"No, Dylan would be supportive, I just really don't want to hear someone think we were already together because of whatever reason Dylan thinks people get together."

"So you called me 'cause I'm a bitch," Jenna said. Peter was at least 60 percent sure she was joking.

"How do you know when you actually like someone?"

"Maybe you should call Dylan."

"I'm serious, I need a non-straight answer."

Jenna sighed, a sigh that spoke of that universal queer experience of too many nights spent awake trying to decipher the motivations behind casual touches and soft words. "What's the deal?" She asked.

"How do you decide where the line is? How do you tell the difference between love and feeling safe?"

"Maybe I shouldn't be the person you ask," Jenna said, a surprising amount of good humor in her voice, "you do remember how things went last time I trusted someone right?"

"I do... Sorry."

"Ugh, don't apologize, Peter. Not to be that guy, but the least surprising thing you could tell me is that you think you're in love with Sam. The two of you have always been a little sickeningly perfect."

"He- I think- We made this bet and now I'm in a new circle of hell where I'm getting called babe and-"

"As a lesbian, I just have to say this is a level of useless queer obliviousness that I really relate to."

"Thanks."

Her smile was less apology and more acknowledgment, but Peter hadn't come to her because he wanted to be fed calming platitudes.

"Do you know why I talked to you and Sam, after everything went down?" It isn't so much a segue as a sharp detour that leaves Peter reeling for a second.

"Because we caught you in a lie while you were high in a parking lot?"

"Peter, I'm a rich person you could have caught me red handed and I still wouldn't have had to talk to you." She paused, and Peter just let the air hang empty not sure what to do and falling back on his Vandal experience, if there was silence eventually someone would fill it.

"That was a joke," she said, Peter wasn't sure it was but he gave her the closest approximation of a smile he could manage. "I'm the only openly gay woman at a very prestigious Catholic school, my gaydar is good. Like  _ good _ good, mostly because it has to be. I pegged you two the minute you walked through the doors. So once I wasn't so high I knew or at least I figured that I had two people I could go to who would get it."

"Get what?" Peter asked, captivated by Jenna's honesty just like he had been when he interviewed her about Brooke.

"How lonely it can be. Not knowing who you can trust with what parts of you. Knowing that sometimes you can let someone in and learn that trust and affection can be more conditional than you realized. Knowing that there are people that you can like that you can never tell anything meaningful about yourself because you've heard the way they talk about people like you, and it's easier to just keep your mouth shut and keep liking them than let that hate be turned toward you. She paused, giving the hurt in Peter's chest time to take his insides into a vice like grip. 

Then she tossed her hair back over her shoulder, a black curtain fluidly transitioning the scene and changing the mood, "You know gay culture or whatever. You had Sam though, I guess, and like I watched Season 1, before you get mad, so I know he like outed you which was a shitty thing to do, but I guess you left it in for a reason which is a very semi-closeted thing to do, like mood.

"Which brings me back around to my point, you had Sam; and you might have settled into things a little more now that you aren't surrounded by all the stuff you have going on at home but you know what it feels like to be safe already. You've had someone that you could trust with those little meaningful parts of yourself, and who pushed you to be the person you are. So I don't know what all this babe shit is and honestly like I don't want to know, keep your weird shit to yourself please, but like I mean I'm sure you can connect the dots here."

"It's just a bet, that's the problem. I'm the one making it weird, Sam is just fine with it."

"And the bet was Sam's idea?"

"Yeah, the dumb ones usually are," Peter laughed, Jenna didn't, it was something of an inside joke.

"Peter, I know I can be a bit of a bitch so I say this with like all due respect. How the fuck can you have two seasons of true crime mystery solving and still be this oblivious. Sam has had a thing for you since, let's say at least since you were filming with us at Saint Bernie's probably longer if you take into account some of the camera work from Season 1. He's made a bet where he gets to indulge in calling you all the shit he's always wanted to call you, but sure there's definitely a hetero explanation for this."

"Sam's not-"

"Not straight,  _ is _ in love with you. Got it, I  _ so _ know."

"What should I do?"

"Coming back around to why I thought we were here in the first place," she smiled while she said it and Peter felt a familiar wave of emotion for Jenna Hawthorne, that confusing mix of affection and sadness at everything that Grayson and Saint Bernie's had put her through. "My own personal baggage aside, I would endorse talking to him about it or something. Normally, I would say something about a worst case but I don't really see one for you two even if for some reason this isn't just a fun case of mutual pining and misunderstanding.

"I assume that covers it, so I'll leave you to figuring out whatever it is you're going to do to get your man."

"Thanks, Jenna."

"Really, don't mention it. I accept payment in the form of Starbucks gift cards or set ups with pretty girls."

"Oh, uh-"

"Chill, I'm kidding. But if you do know any pretty girls who are on the market..."

"I'll send them your way." Peter promised, already he idly wondered if Sam knew if Jenna might be Gabi's type.

The edge of Jenna's smile tilted, transforming her expression into something more sincere, "I really do hope things work out, Peter. Looking forward to seeing how obnoxiously cute you two are on socials."

She ended the call just as abruptly as she started it, her face filling Peter's screen one second and then gone the next. Leaving Peter looking at the shortest DM conversation he'd had with a person while trying to set up an interview and the sudden reappearance of his tool bar and all its notifications.

Which included a text from Sam:  **home late, working with some people on a thing**

**dont wait up**

And Peter knew he was in trouble.

No emojis, no pet names, no explanation. It was as close to ghosting as either one of them ever got with each other anymore, and they only ever did that when they were mad. Which meant he'd done something in the last couple hours to upset Sam.

The urge to call Jenna back was strong. But he didn't think the advice she had given him was going to change. He needed to talk to someone else about this though. When faced with the thought that Sam was mad at him, Peter didn't want to be alone with his own thoughts not when they could fight back against him so easily.

_ what would you do if mackenzie was mad at you and you didnt know why _

**shit dude you and sam have a fight**

**major bummer**

**like i usually knew why mack was mad cuz shed tell me**

**but you gotta go for the big gesture pete bro**

_ what if that just makes it worse? _

**bro**

**pete**

**its a big romantic gesture**

**that shit never makes it worse thats why people do it in movies all the time**

**thought you were the movie guy**

Dylan brought with him the kind of logic that was impossible to argue against, or at least not in the traditional sense. It was so nonsensically reasonable, it always made Peter feel a little like Alice taking advice from the people of Wonderland. Sometimes it was just so absurdly simple when Dylan brought it up that Peter couldn't believe he hadn't already considered it, or that it usually worked.

_ what do i even do? _

**aw man idk**

**i got a tattoo**

**but no offense pete that doesnt seem like your bag**

**what kind of nerd shit do you usually do**

It would help if he knew how he'd pissed Sam off. While Peter had guessed it had something to do with his last Instagram post, he didn't know what about it had set Sam off; or if it wasn't that at all and Peter had just missed some entirely different thing that he'd done to upset Sam. The problem really was they didn't fight anymore. Not the way they used to, where Peter would say something without thinking about his tone and how it could come across. Or where Sam would say something without thinking at all and when that happened he was usually a dick about it. That hadn't happened since the Sam Theory sophomore year. They hadn't even really argued since the Lou and DeMarcus interview, when Peter shushed him so they wouldn't go off on the 10 minute tangent that he knew Sam would take them on if he got started --- and even then Sam had let Peter apologize.

Normally they just stormed off and waited until one of them got tired of not talking and reached out with something stupid. Then they would just pretended it didn't happen.

_ ill send him a meme and then we dont talk about it ever again _ : Peter replied honestly.

**dude**

**how the fuck are you guys even together**

_ idk i dont think we even are _

**nah dude dont say that shit**

**you guys are like the real shit**

**thisll blow over and youll be back to doing whatever shit you guys do in no time**

**😉😉😉**

Peter wasn't sure if he really had a romantic bone in his body, but he knew Sam. Peter knew Sam just like Sam knew Peter; and Peter knew Sam knew him and vice versa. Sam knew Peter's schedule just like Peter knew Sam's. So Sam knew exactly how long he had to avoid Peter if he wanted to avoid having a conversation, which was what he would do. Whether he was "at the library studying" or if he was "out with his friends from his other classes" both possibly true but activities that would have easily been stretched out to avoid talking about whatever it was he didn't want to talk about.

It was the same move that Sam had been practicing since high school, maybe earlier. Break routine and avoid until everyone has forgotten what they were mad about. It made his Gabi apology all the more impressive, the rare Ecklund apology and it was caught on camera. Peter was sure that if he wanted to he could make this whole thing blow over, he could be in his room when Sam came home. He could stay there until Sam left for classes the next morning --- out the door no later than 8:15 if he wanted to have any hope of finding parking before his 9:40 started. Then he could send him the first dumb thing he found on the internet or hope that someone from high school had done something cringy he could screenshot.

That was what he could have done.

What he did was much dumber.

What he did was listen to Dylan.

Which at least let him put some of his nervous energy to good use. Peter had come by his stress baking honestly, as a kid who didn't know how to manage the new stress of middle school and liked to make his mom happy, and now it was his only real coping mechanism.

Cooking and baking weren't exactly the same thing, but Peter was a pretty fair hand at both.

Sam looked surprised to see Peter still up when he finally walked through their door --- close to midnight, way later than Peter would normally be up and late enough that Sam would be complaining all day about how tired he was. It could also be that he walked through the front door to catch Peter, a deer in Sam's headlights, with two plates in hand setting their coffee table for dinner.

"Uh, surprise," Peter said. It was the only way he could think to break the infinitely stretching seconds of them staring at each other.

"Midnight snack?" Sam asked, looking over the full plates that Peter had set out and the extra food that was still steaming in the dishes that he cooked them in.

"A winner dinner," Peter corrected, haltingly. With every new syllable he could feel fresh regret for deciding that this was what he wanted to do and how he wanted to do it. But the ball had already started rolling now, his sentence was the proverbial snowball rolling down the hill and it's momentum had already left his control. "I want to end the bet."

"Oh, yeah, fucking knew you'd break first dude. What'd you make?"

Peter had to fight every impulse in his body so he would keep his eyes trained on Sam's face, and he was rewarded with disappointment. Sam was disappointed. Disappointed and trying not to show it, an actor to the end but Peter knew all of Sam's tells. This was the same face Sam had worn when Vandal hadn't won anything during award season. The same face he'd worn after Christmas after they turned 13 and Sam didn't get the show tickets he'd wanted.

Sam was in a half crouch, hunched over as he looked at the plate that was set up in front of his usual spot on the couch. Most importantly, Sam wasn't focused on him.

Which made what he was going to say next a little bit easier. A little bit. Easier didn't mean that he couldn't feel his heart beating triple time in his chest. It didn't stop the familiar squeezing feeling of lungs that couldn't bring in enough air. And it definitely didn't stop the roller coaster flip flop in his stomach.

"I want to end it, um, I- to end it-"

"I get it, dude, it's done don't worry about it. What'd you put in this shit? This doesn't look like how your mom makes it?" Agitated, disappointed, and deflecting. At least two of those were familiar friends. Signs that Sam would very soon be tired and want to retreat from the conversation to save his cold shoulder for another day.

"No," Peter was a little shocked by his own insistence, like when he'd listened back to himself shushing Sam while they'd interviewed DeMarcus, it was forceful more than he'd meant it to be but it was enough to shock some of the sullen disappointment from Sam's face and replace it with a nervous anticipation.

"No," Peter repeated, gentler, since he didn't actually want to scare Sam off, "let me finish, I- I don't have a prepared Vandal monologue. I want to end the bet, because..." He paused for a half second on the better than average chance that Sam would interrupt him again. "Because when I call you babe I don't want you to think it's because of some stupid bet."

Sam looked up at him so fast it made Peter's neck hurt. "Run that by me again."

Normally Peter would assume that Sam asked just to deliberately torture him. That he was teasing Peter just to tease, dragging out an uncomfortable moment just to make Peter live in it because he hates them so much. He would think that --- because Sam has teased him and made him sit through too many awkward moments to count because that's what a director and a documentarian had to do sometimes. 

He would think that if Sam's entire demeanor hadn't changed as he asked it. Anticipation became something else. Something like hope that Peter could read in the curve of his spine and the light in his eyes.

Peter swallowed his nerves, a tight lump in his throat. He almost wished he hadn't made the dinner for his "grand gesture" the nausea in his stomach was building.

"When I call you babe I want you to know that I mean it. I- I don't want, it's not because of some stupid bet. I like you and I want to call you babe and hon and anything else I think of, and not because of some ultimatum."

The quiet after Peter's sentence ended rang like a death sentence in his ears. Rejection he thought he could handle, but the anticipation that lived in the spaces between every word Sam had yet to say left too much for Peter to try to read into.

"Fuck!" Singular. Exclamatory. Sam. There was a wobble in his voice that Peter couldn't name, raw and emotional.

"Fuck," Sam repeated, the wobble asserted it's presence again. "Pete, Peter, baby. Shit, we're like the worst at this, huh?" Peter read between the lines. He heard the yes. The I like you too. The words that lived between what Sam had said and what he meant. The truth that was held in the spaces between.

"Worst feels like a stretch."

Sam's laugh was watery, a wistful pleasant sound like rain hitting still water. "Okay maybe just I'm the worst, making up bets to call a cute boy nicknames."

"You think I'm cute?" Peter asked, a question he hadn't had any hope of repressing. It was a knee jerk reaction so textbook he wished he had a little hammer.

"Oh my god, that's what you got from that," Sam's laugh was more sincere now, less worried about what Peter might think.

"Sorry, sorry," Peter's apology was just as instinctive but had less of the reflexive flinch. He couldn't help reacting to a verbal confirmation that Sam might actually like him, it's been a stressful couple months, shit it's been a stressful couple hours for Peter and his emotional stability. "I think you're cute too." He felt his face warm, somehow that sounded more like a confession in his ears than his actual confession.

"Well yeah, I mean who wouldn't," Sam said. Peter looked up from his hands in time to catch Sam looking at him when he said that. The joke lost in the sincerity in his eyes, it sounded more like he was answering Peter's question.

"So..."

"So," Sam repeated, watching Peter with an open expression that made Peter's knees weak and his stomach flip.

"I don't think we broke the stigma of platonic pet names." Peter said as he cracked under the full gaze of Sam.

"Really, that's what you're going with," Sam's laugh softened the words. "God, your way with words, Pete."

"Sorry I can't be as smooth as you, and borrow plot lines from Netflix rom-coms or whatever, Sammy."

"It was a Lifetime movie, fuck you."

"Yeah that's better," Peter said. He could feel the way his smile stretched across his face, so wide it hurt a little bit, shouting "I love you," in a way Peter couldn't just yet.

"I can't help it that I'm a disaster bi, Peter. I'm valid."

"Yeah," Peter said. Breathless. Earnest.

"Keep that up and you might beat string for first place in my heart,"  Sam said, cheeks stained red and his smile distinctly less smug and more bashful.

"Is that what-"

"I might," Sam interrupted, stressing his words while his embarrassment colored the tips of his ears, " _ might _ have read your caption and thought you'd figured things out, and weren't happy about them. In my defense there were no emoji's or anything, the tone was hard to read."

"Do you think Gabi would like Jenna."

"Alright, and the award for weirdest fucking subject change goes to."

"No, I just- Jenna might have pointed out there were some connotations to the caption."

"Aw, you called Jenna about me."

"She said she was kidding about owing her but..."

"But Jenna deserves all the good things, I know, worry about her later Yente. Are you sure about this?"

"Sure? Sure about what? That I like you?" Sam didn't have to answer, Peter could read the anxiety in the way his teeth caught his bottom lip and his half-smile.

"Yeah I mean dating your best friend, that's something that  _ never _ goes wrong."

"Sam, I've followed you from one bad decision and stupid bet to another since we were kids. On the list of things I've done with or because of Sam Ecklund that I have regretted like this one doesn't even rank. Its started a new list. A holy shit a Sam bet actually had positive results for once list."

"Yeah?"

"Obviously."

"You know," Sam said, the look he was trying to go for was lost on Peter, his eyes were soft --- the green catching just right in the terrible lighting of their apartment to make Peter's stomach flip flop --- and his smile tried to smirk but fell short at the finish, "really I'm kinda responsible for convincing you to stop being such a wuss for once and make something good. So I think Vandal belongs on that holy shit list too."

"I think it's bad form to tell someone you want to date that their filmography is shit, babe." Peter said.

"I didn't say it was bad-"

"Yeah you have, I literally have it on video."

" _ I'm just saying _ that the thing I helped with was the best."

"Whatever you say, co-producer of my heart," Peter said, taking a chance.

"Fucking sap." He was rewarded. Sam blushed a brilliant pink, color staining across the bridge of his nose and his cheeks.

"Y'know what's funny though," Peter asked.

"That you've got half the internet convinced your a stern faced documentarian when you're really a nerd who says shit like co-producer of my heart."

" _ No _ , what's funny is the whole point of this was because you said this didn't work in real life."

"I stand by my claim." Sam said, his fork in hand, he used it to point at Peter, "Stop your shitty gloating and let me enjoy my winner dinner."

Peter picked up his own fork, more than happy to sit in the feelings of fresh thrill of reciprocated romance and old comfort; but not happy enough to let Sam have the last word. Not sure if slang was something he could really pull off, the joke was more for himself, he muttered, "This stupid bet won you dinner and a snack."

Sam's jaw and fork clattered to the ground anyway. "Oh my god, Peter, I fucking love you."

Peter flushed at the obvious appreciation of his joke and wondered if he and Sam shouldn't try adding a writing credit to their IMDB pages next, now that everything had wrapped up so nicely. Netflix always needed another good-bad teen rom-com; and like Sam said, this shit didn't happen in real life.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://formosusiniquis.tumblr.com/)


End file.
